Obsessive Hunger
by Valerie E. Mackin
Summary: Sylar is in search of his real family, and Claire is in search of something darker. Set after the events of Volume 3 Villains , before the events of Volume 4 Redemption. Re-edited and re-vamped a bit, with a new chapter.-on Hiatus until further notice. Apologies, the Heroes muse has deserted me.
1. Sylar 1

**Sylar - 1**

The shadows beckoned the stranger, enticing him to become one of them. _Blend_, they seemed to whisper. _We will embrace you, cloak you, shield you from the eyes of your victims and your enemies_. The man joined them, head tilted toward the ground as if watching for loose change or a sudden rip in the concrete.

Staying close to the buildings, well into the shadows, he strode purposefully up the deserted street and turned east, facing the tiny sliver of rising sun just over the horizon. He'd thought any town in California would be busier at this time of day, just before dawn when the most menial workers would be getting off work and the most dedicated workaholics would be arriving at the offices, but this was the sixth deserted block he'd traveled this morning, and he was starting to wonder where all the people were.

Not that he minded, of course. Most people were a disappointment, a waste of time, or dangerous. At least, he used to think they were dangerous. Not much fazed him anymore. The only problem with being basically invincible was that there wasn't much thrill left to life. Without the dangers and the deprivations, life wasn't very challenging.

Of course, every now and then, life still had a curve ball to throw his way, such as the fun little adventure he was on now: being captured, both his "mother" and his "father" lying to him and using him, falling in "love," finding out his real family was God knows where, and then that whole nasty business on the beach. If he'd thought she would have just left, he wouldn't have had to take those measures. He already had her power, after all. He might have never needed to kill again.

But she had lied, just like everyone else. God, he hated liars. So now he was the "monster" again, apparently his true calling. He was tired of it all at this point; he just wanted someone to tell him the truth. Where was he from? Did he have real parents, or was he just spawned from a pod, like some hideous horror movie creature? A smirk crossed his shadowed features; some people certainly sided with the latter option. He turned north and headed toward a certain nearby home. He needed information: time to pay a visit to an old acquaintance.

_I am coming back for you. Even if I won't admit it to myself, we really should both know this was inevitable. _

_We would be foolish to think anything else._

_One experience inside you would never be enough for any "normal" person, the idiots who walk around every day with brains like sieves, memories leaking out and losing coherency within moments of events. But I can't stop thinking of you; you know how I focus on things. What was it Chandra Suresh called it? _

_Obsession. You are my obsession. _

_I remember every second of our last meeting; perfect memory, you see. Your terror was intoxicating. Every tiny gasp, every little flutter of your horror-stricken eyes, all those pitiful pleas and brave words from your trembling mouth. _

_And your ridiculous question. Do you think I'm a zombie, or something?_

_How can you take yourself seriously? Trying to be so brave and tough, but inside you are still the perfect, innocent, frightened little cheerleader I chased through the locker room. I'm glad I missed you that first time, Claire. When I finally caught you this time, it was absolute perfection; I don't think it would have been as good had I actually killed you like I originally planned (not that I could have, of course), though I honestly have to admit (you do remember that I hate liars, right?) that you were delicious. _

_In the non-culinary sense, of course._

_I'll see you soon, Claire. My "mommy" and "daddy" lied to me and used me (did you know I was your uncle for a few days? How bizarre), so I need to move on and find my family elsewhere. _

_I'm starting with yours. One of your daddies has some information in which I'm interested, so I'll be paying the Bennet household a visit soon. _

_I have another confession for you Claire. I'm not just coming to pick Noah's brain. I have some interesting plans for you once my interrogation is over. I want to hear those little gasps and whimpers of fear again. I want to see you trying so hard to break my unbreakable hold. I want to look in your head (without cutting it open this time) to see if you've thought of me even a fraction of how much I think of you. I want to see your brave little charade trying to convince me you're stronger than me, and I want to be inside you, Claire. Completely inside you._

_I want to see if you stand up to the memories._


	2. Claire 1

**Claire - 1**

Tides were inevitable. The waves moved farther up the shore, then back down, over and over in the endless cycle. Claire especially liked to watch when the high tide would lap at, and eventually wash away, the debris left on the shore by the low tide. Erasure of the past, painless cleaning away of past mishaps and leftovers: if only the human mind worked the same way. Assuming she was still – or ever had been – human, that is.

She knew better than to wish for the past to be erased, really. Forgetting the past meant forgetting all the lessons she'd learned, dangers she'd faced, mistakes she'd made, etc. And she knew she really shouldn't forget. The dangers were still there, would still be there even if she forgot about them. The liars would still lie, even if she forgot who they were and how to recognize them. At least she knew who she could trust to do what.

Noah Bennet. Claire felt as if "roller coaster" was not nearly strong enough to describe her relationship with her adoptive father over the last couple of years. Deep down, she realized she probably still loved him (she knew she did, really), but his constant repetition of the same line was wearing down her patience and her ability to forgive him for each new obstacle he threw in her way. Love, protection, and devotion were all well and good, but she wanted to have a life. The protection crap had gotten old even before she had become disillusioned with the world.

She was tired all the time now. Monotony defined her everyday life. Sure, it was a new town and a new school. But her family did the same things. Her mom petted the dog, her brother remained oblivious to everything going on around him, and her father continued to lie "to protect the family."

And she continued to lie and pretend right along with them, acting like everything was fabulous. She often felt a bit guilty for holding so many things back from her family, but she hated so much right now. All the time, just hate and anger and frustration.

After their initial reaction of fear and shock, Claire didn't mention her problem anymore, and for some reason, they all seemed to forget what was wrong. Maybe they were all in denial, but if that was the case, surely they were just coping with something they couldn't mentally handle. She should be more understanding. Her family, her life shouldn't bother her so much right now. She shouldn't feel so…

Her thoughts slammed head-first into a mental brick wall, refusing to set so much as a toe into the "forbidden" area. She grimaced; she'd tried so hard over the last few months to push any thoughts of feelings out of her head. But how could she forget something like that?

"Feelings, nothing more than feelings…"

_I think one of the lines in that song goes, "Trying to forget my feelings." Sounds like a great problem to have: having so many feelings you have to forget about them. Of course, the singer was probably talking about emotional feelings. I have plenty of those: anger, fear, frustration, disgust…just to name a few._

_Let's start with anger: you. You are the basis of my anger. You did this to me. I feel like my entire body is wrapped up in layers of insulation, keeping me from any physical sensations at all. Pain, pleasure, hot, cold, soft, rough: I've got nothing on that front. And the worst part is, the last physical sensation I felt was from you. Of all the people in the world, I would have personally made sure you'd be the last to touch me. Irony?_

_And you broke me. You don't even know, and you wouldn't care even if you did. Some days, I almost wish you had killed me like you did those other people. At least then I'd know why I have no feeling. I know you said I couldn't die, and I know it's a cliché, but you killed a part of me when you were inside me. I thought you would kill me, and your contempt still rings in my ears. _

"Claire, that's disgusting."

_Enough anger. Let's move on to fear. We both know you'll come back. You aren't famous for letting your victims go; I've seen what you do to people, what you really wanted to do to me. I heard the tone of your voice even over the slamming of my heart in my chest and the wind tunnel of my terrified breathing: you enjoy what you do to people, what you did to me, you sick bastard. You violated me and took part of me, leaving behind a battered, barely-animated corpse (more a zombie than anything else). You enjoyed the torture, the pain before and the fear during and after; that's what scares me the most about you. That's what still scares me. Your focus and obsession, that hunger that drives you. I saw the hunger in your eyes. That sight didn't leave me when you did. I see it every day when I blink, every night when I close my eyes to sleep._

_And I'm afraid I'll live to see it again in person._

_Frustration is defined in my life as the fact that the person (monster) who has made my life a hell, who hunted me for over a year, who tortured me and my family, who took all my physical sensations: you are now my obsession. You started this, but I can't finish it. _

_Why won't you get the hell out of my head?_

_Frustration is also defined as the fact that my last feelings (real, physical sensations) were given to me by you. Hardly an equal exchange for what you took; I doubt you'd agree. And now I can't stop my thoughts from returning to you, constantly returning to you. You made me a victim, and your memory is keeping me one._

_Which leads me to our winner: disgust. I **want** to think about you. I **don't** want to forget that day. I wish I could remember it better. And why? Because when I think of you, all the rage and fear and frustration build until I can almost physically feel you here with me. When I think of your voice, I can physically feel the shivers running through me. I can almost feel your eyes, your hands, your breath on my skin. The fear, the anger, the memories of you: I want them. All I can feel is your memory, and I won't lose the last thing I can feel. I disgust myself. I can't…No, I won't let go of those thoughts, of the rage and pain that drive me now, because I can feel them inside me. I can actually feel them._

_And I can feel you inside me._

Author's note: The song "Feelings" was performed by Albert Morris and belongs to the copyright holder.


	3. Sylar 2

**Sylar - 2**

As yet another hormone-infused, acne-ridden t_hing_ ran past and jolted his elbow, Sylar found himself once again debating how much unwanted attention a screaming, armless teenager would attract. He sighed.

Sadly, still not worth it.

He returned his attention to the parking lot across the street. Apparently, the original address he'd been given was incorrect; he knew he was in the right town based on information from a variety of sources, but apparently someone still thought they could get away with playing him falsely; something to be dealt with at a later time. Not a problem, though. If he waited long enough outside her school, he was sure he would spot her. All he needed to do after that would be to follow Claire home to Daddy and get his information. And then...

His mind drifted as it so often seemed to do recently. He knew better than to let his mind wander like this, he knew how dangerous it could be. Focus was key here; losing focus meant making mistakes. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes with Noah Bennet involved. He'd been in that situation too many times before, and he had no intention of screwing this up. Not that he was afraid of the man; he just knew better than to underestimate him.

That, and he just simply disliked mistakes.

Recently, though, he'd been having some very interesting, very distracting dreams, and if Mommy Dearest (the second one, not the first) was anything to go by, he probably should devote a little thought to them…just to be on the safe side, of course. Right now, though, he needed to remain as focused and inconspicuous as possible. Drawing attention wasn't his thing. As he had learned from past experience, anyone could be watching or listening, and it wouldn't do for someone to see or hear the wrong thing. A smirk briefly crossed is face at an old memory.

"_That sound…in your heart. What is it?"_

So he would wait here, thinking of the next steps in his plan and what he would do with the new information he was after, and thus ensure as few mistakes as possible. Later, though, on his own, he'd give himself some time to think on those dreams. Nothing wrong with a little indulgence, as long as it was done in moderation.

His smirk widening, Sylar continued to observe the parking lot of Costa Verde High School.

_Every night I dream of you: without fail, there you are, all sweet and cute and however the hell else people describe you. The last couple of weeks, however, have been different. I don't want to confuse you, so let me explain. Since our last little get-together, my thoughts have strayed from my usual targets more and more. The first few weeks, there was the occasional stray dreamlet or a half-thought. Recently, I've experienced a full-force invasion of your presence in my mind: your voice, your smell, everything about you and that day. _

_Every. Single. Night._

_Almost every night I get to relive our brain trust (pardon my pun; I couldn't resist) in perfect, unchanged detail. I briefly wondered whether I was feeling guilty, but I dismissed that outright; I'm still enjoying the memories too much. I thought over every possibility: Parkman's mind control, Angela's dreams (I was part of the family for a while, after all). I even briefly considered whether you were somehow behind this, trying to satisfy some juvenile sense of justice or retribution for what I did to you. I dismissed that one pretty quickly._

_That would be just like you, though, Claire. You're such an idealist, just like your real Daddy. You want to think everyone gets what they deserve: the good people like you and your family get their rewards, and the bad guys like me get justice in the end. But…_

_You literally don't have it in you to do that to me, Claire._

_But then the dreams changed. Instead of reliving that day in every delicious, exquisite detail, I've been having some…different experiences at night. You, of course, are the main feature, but the setting always changes. Sometimes I am watching you, but sometimes you and I are very…interactive._

_I dream sometimes that you are waiting for me, watching for me from your bedroom window. I dream that, as terrified as you are, you know I'm coming and you cower as you wait. I dream sometimes that your terror has driven you to real independence from your scores of protectors, so much so that you want some sort of vigilante justice. You decide to stop playing my victim and end up hunting me down. You're so tough, so angry, so driven. Just between you and me, I have the most fun in those dreams._

_Especially when I break you._

_I dream sometimes that we were interrupted during our time together, and these are the most frustrating dreams. It feels as if months are passing as I try time and again to reach you after losing my opportunity. You may wonder what would have happened if I'd never had a chance to finish with you, Claire, but I know. Thinking of these dreams most often reminds me how I need to focus now to avoid similar frustration with my new goals. Even I can take a warning every now and then. _

_And then one more dream: it's night, and it's raining. You're walking along the beach. You walk down to the water's edge, and I watch the prints your feet leave in the wet, colorless sand. As you walk away, for some reason I am watching your footprints instead of you. I move closer and place my own prints next to yours; my tracks are so much larger and deeper than yours, darker in the moonless night. Where the light is coming from, I have no idea, as the clouds are covering any natural sources of light. Then I step back and look toward you, but you're too far down the darkened beach to see clearly through the rain anymore. I've let you go too far before I catch you. A warning or a message that I'm already too late to find you again? _

_I reach out with my power and begin drawing you back, focusing on your pale, indistinct figure in the distance. As I glance down at the waves lapping at my feet, I see that our prints have been washed away by the incoming tide. When I look up, you are closer, and I think at first it is my power alone that has drawn you back to me, but you aren't the same as the last time I saw you. The rain is dripping down your face, your hair is soaked and plastered to your body, as are your clothes. You have the same face, the same smile, the same…ponytail that I remember, but there is something new burning behind your eyes, something that replaces the fear that I once put there. I saw something like that in one other person's eyes once, the only time I've seen something like that directed at me. She is dead now, thanks to yours truly. But you can't die. _

_Fun, right?_

_I haven't decided if I like this look on you better than the fear. I'll think about that later when I have more time._

_And I'll personally let you know._


	4. Claire 2

**Claire - 2**

She knew it was cliché, but she couldn't help sulking. Seemed to be the season for clichés. Who cared that she skipped gym class? It wasn't as if she could improve her health by going. And now she was grounded? Who grounded superheroes, seriously? Sighing, Claire shoved herself off her bed and recommenced pacing her bedroom. Oh, sure, she could sneak out, but what was the point? She left gym because she was bored, but she'd only ended up being bored somewhere else. She'd be bored if she left, so she might as well stay bored here. Only now she was bored _and_ grounded.

Sigh.

Bored wasn't quite the word, though. Tense. Anxious, maybe. She was waiting for something to happen, something to break. There was tension everywhere: in the air, in the world, in her self…more specifically, in her body, though she would only secretly admit that to herself. Surely, she thought, something was bound to snap soon.

She just hoped it wouldn't be her mind.

She laughed at her own melodramatics, and the sound was sudden and loud in her otherwise empty room. She heard the front door open and close downstairs. Dad was home. The confrontation would come sooner or later, so Claire decided to make it sooner. Besides, it was better to talk to Noah Bennet with her mother as a witness, even though he inevitably would side with her against Claire. Better safe than sorry.

She flounced downstairs, making her presence and indignation known with every clomping step on the stairs. Dangerous, gun-toting, Haitian-partnering, spy-type father or not, Noah Bennet was going to know that it was not okay to ground a superhero, even if she was his teenage daughter.

Her mother and father were talking quietly in the kitchen with their backs to her. Claire paused, trying to overhear something of what they were saying. She couldn't make out the individual words, but there seemed to be a note of anxiety in her mother's urgent whispers to her father. She opened her mouth to announce her presence when she was interrupted by a quiet remark from the general vicinity of the couch.

"Geez, Claire."

She turned her glare on Lyle, sprawled on the couch with one of his perpetual video games glued to his hand. Instead of being fixated on his game, however, he was watching his sister with a decidedly concerned look on his face.

"What'd you do this time? They're talking about shipping you off somewhere."

Her annoyed retort froze on her lips. Lyle stared back at her, eyes wide, no trace of his usual indifference or sarcasm. This was _Lyle_. If he was serious – heck, if he was concerned at all – then her parents really must have said something. She couldn't think of what to say and instead stared at Lyle, eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

"They were saying something about your grandmother in New York and private tutors, and Mom was even agreeing, and you know how she feels about your other family. Did you rob a convenience store and beat down the clerk when you skipped class, too? I've skipped class tons of times, and I never got in this much trouble!"

She huffed and dropped heavily onto the small, non-Lyle-occupied end of the couch, giving her brother a withering look.

"You can't be serious," was her brilliantly planned and executed retort.

He leaned forward, clicking off his game system. "I don't get it. You go around like a zombie for weeks, then you just take off from school like you've actually got somewhere to be, then you get busted, and…" He trailed off for a minute, his eyebrows lowered as he frowned. "Claire, you've done way worse stuff than this, and the worst that happened is you got a little grounded. Seriously, did you kill somebody and not tell me?"

Noah Bennet's clearing throat interrupted their conversation. "Your mother and I would like to see you in the kitchen, Claire."

She heaved herself off the couch and followed her father into the kitchen, her sullenness and indignation replaced by confusion. Footsteps from behind told her Lyle was following them. She supposed it was better that way; if her parents let Lyle in on the conversation, it couldn't be that deathly serious, could it?

"Lyle, your mother and I would like to speak with Claire in private. We'd appreciate it if you would go up to your room."

Crap.

Lyle stomped up the stairs, clearly frustrated that he was once more being left out. She settled herself at the counter, sitting across from her mother. Mr. Muggles, her mother's ever-present arm embellishment, stared accusingly at her as Sandra Bennet gazed pensively at the counter. Definitely something weird going on.

"We know something is wrong Claire," Noah started. She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued before she could interrupt. "We've tried talking to you, we've tried waiting you out, we've tried letting you act out, but I don't think it's working. As slow as we are, we finally figured out we can't fix everything that's wrong in your life." He paused, throwing one of his patented cynical glances in Claire's direction.

"Now, I know that skipping school has been labeled unacceptable in this family, and the punishment stands (Claire's mouth set back in its stubborn line); however, we also realize that this is not a typical household, nor a typical family situation." His reproachful look melted into a tender one as he smiled at his daughter. "Claire-Bear, we know you aren't happy. We know something is wrong, and we want to help."

Sandra gave Claire a tired, sad smile. "I don't know what you were thinkin', Claire, but I also know you won't share what's wrong until you're ready. We've thought hard about this, and…" She took a breath to steady herself. "We thought you could use a change of scenery for a while."

Claire burst out before she could stop herself. "You're getting rid of me?"

Now both her parents sent withering looks her way. "Yes, Claire," Sandra answered drily, sarcasm dripping thickly through her Southern accent. "After everythin' that's happened, everythin' you've done and been through, we decided we couldn't handle another discipline case that skips school. I'm thinkin' last straw sort of thing, y'know?"

Noah smiled sadly and added, "We would never ship you off, Claire. We thought you might need a break, that's all. A little time away from…where you were hurt."

Claire stared at the two of them for a moment, wondering when they'd finally caught on. Or had they known all along and she'd been too wrapped up in her own pity party to realize she was making everyone else miserable, too? She thought about Lyle's zombie comment and realized she must've been pretty blind to the whole situation. After all, if there was anyone who knew zombie-like behavior, it was Lyle…

"So, where am I going?" she asked, curiosity finally getting the better of her.

"Well, we were thinking you might enjoy a trip to New York to visit with the other half of your family," Noah said.

"And you could do the tourist thing, see the sites, you know…Be a normal teenager, at least for a little while," Sandra added, hitting the point she knew would really get Claire's attention.

For the first time in so long, Claire began to feel something besides the rage and frustration. Maybe she did need to get out, to get away for a while. Zombie Claire wasn't exactly fun for the whole family. Her family could have a break from her for a while, and for that matter, so could she. It might be nice to get away from herself. She could at least pretend to feel a little better, and that was something. She could see Peter. Maybe she could keep herself busy enough to forget that anxious, tense feeling…the waiting and the wanting.

Maybe.

"When can I leave, and how long am I staying?" She said, a tiny smile tilting the corner of her mouth.

Noah smiled down at her. "You and your mother go pack. I'd imagine if you don't bring enough, your grandmother will be happy to take you or send you shopping for whatever you need. I'll call Angela to make the arrangements."

Claire rose, turning toward the stairs, then paused as wariness crept back into her thoughts. "Has something happened? Are you sending me away to protect me from something? You aren't going to call up a squad of Secret Service men to follow me around New York, are you?"

Noah laughed as he reached for the phone. "Don't be silly, Claire-Bear. You've met my associates. The Secret Service are amateurs, and I would only leave you with the best."

Evidently, Noah called in a favor or two after all, because the minute she and her mother had finished packing, he hustled Claire and her mother downstairs, saying something about not missing her flight. He managed to talk Lyle into going to the airport with Claire and her mother and began loading Claire's bags into the back of the car as Lyle switched his game system back on.

"Dad, why aren't you coming? You don't want to see me off?"

"I don't like to get emotional in public." His smile was once again sad as he pulled her into a tight hug. "Behave, listen to your grandmother, and at least attempt to listen to the tutors she's gotten you."

"Tutors?"

Noah laughed at her indignation. "Your grandmother insisted you not fall behind in your schoolwork. It was her only condition for you on this trip, so I'd say you got off easy."

"If I have to," she sighed grudgingly and then paused, watching her father a moment. "You never said when I was coming back."

"I bought you a one-way ticket. I figured you'd let us know when you were ready to come home." He hugged her tightly to him again. "I'll miss you, Claire-Bear."

She hugged her father tight, surprised by the sharp pang of anxiety she suddenly felt at leaving him. "Miss you, too, Dad."

She squeezed him once more, then jumped into the car with her mother and Lyle. She turned and waved to Noah as her mother pulled out on the street, missing the quick glance Sandra exchange with Noah in the rearview mirror. She continued waving to her father until the car turned a corner and she could no longer see him.

Bennet smiled his best "Nothing's wrong, everything's great, I'll miss you and see you soon enough" smile and waved until he could no longer see the car. With his non-waving hand, he reached down and drew his gun, flicking the safety off. He then turned and nodded to the discreet, dark-colored sedan parked several yards down the street. The Haitian nodded back and pulled out, following the same route the Bennet family had taken.

That was taken care of. For now, at least, she was safe.

He started to turn, cocking his gun, when the weapon flew from his hand, and he was thrown backwards through the open front door of the house. Pain flooded through him as he slammed into the wall at the far side of the living room. Black and white spots fought for dominance in his blurred vision as the force of impact knocked his glasses from his face. The room began to dim, and an indistinct figure entered the house; as it moved closer, the figure slowly clarified into the very person Bennet had been expecting.

The world faded to gray as Noah groaned, "She's gone…you can't hurt her this time, Sylar."

"I'm patient, Noah. I can wait to see Claire again. In the meantime, we'll start the reunion with you."

_Parents. What can I say? I guess they really do know best. I can't describe how…amazing it is to feel something other than this sick obsession with you. I don't know what possessed me to cut school today, but I'm glad I did if this is what came from it. Maybe I should fail a class next time. I might get an Audi…_

_I'm telling a bit of a lie, though, and I know better than to lie to you. I know at least part of the reason I skipped school today. I…well, I had this feeling that I shouldn't stay there. It wasn't the place to be at the moment. I was scared to stay, so I ran. _

_Like the coward I am._

_I complain (okay, I bitch) about these feelings of anger and hate and wanting that I have for you, but the truth is, I'm terrified. I feel all that and more, but I'm absolutely terrified. I'm scared beyond words of what you could do to me. With so little effort on your part, look what you already did to me. What could you do if you really tried?_

_And I'm scare of what I want. I still can't feel much of anything physically, even if I've had an emotional breakthrough. What if…what if being close to you, close to what you took from me, could make me feel whole again? This is the secret thought that I never share with anyone, the thought that keeps me awake some nights. What if that was the only way for me to feel real again? If I had to stay near you all the time, I don't know if I could let that happen. Would I want to do that? Could I handle it? Would my father (fathers?) let me? _

_Would you let me?_

_Oh, God, what is wrong with me? I don't think obsession covers it anymore. I am a sad, sick, pathetic mental stalker who talks to a psychopath inside her own head as if he can step out and sweep me off my feet and save me from the big bad monster that he is. _

_They could name a new mental illness after me._

_It would go something like this: _

_Scientific name: Patheticus Clairitis. Duration: The rest of my pathetic existence, apparently. Causes: Violent, prolonged exposure to psychopaths. Symptoms: Internal emotional hemorrhaging; outward persistent zombie-like state; severe and pervasive patheticism. Treatment: Detach patient's cranium from body; alternatively, a good, hard kick in the ass._


	5. Sylar 3

**Sylar - 3**

He watched the droplet slide slowly down Noah Bennett's cheek, leaving a thin crimson streak on his face. Such a tiny cut, a disciplined mind could easily ignore its sting. Surely nothing to worry about. Now, maybe if you had a hundred such tiny wounds, then you might want to worry a little. And say there was a person with an ability (telekinesis, for example) who could pull each of the cuts just a little wider, keep the streams flowing and the cuts from healing…then you were definitely allowed to be worried.

Or terrified, if you preferred. Sylar certainly did.

Smirking was so cliché in these situations, but Sylar really didn't see any point in changing his habits now. Besides, he really couldn't help himself. This was Noah Bennett, The Man with the Horn-Rimmed Glasses. Partner of the Haitian. Former Scourge of the "Special." Sylar's former partner…and betrayer, for that matter.

White Knight, Rescuer, and Protector of _**her**_. Sylar closed his eyes moment, then exhaled sharply.

"Are you going to smirk me to death, or is there some point to this happy reunion?"

Sylar shook himself out of his thoughts and focused his gaze on Bennet. "Still hanging on to consciousness? I thought for sure you'd have given up by now." Even as he said it, Sylar knew he not only sounded pathetic, but this was also a stupid comment to make. Bennet never gave up on anything when he thought Claire was in danger.

Even through a haze of blood and pain, Bennet bestowed a look on Sylar that made him wonder for a moment if the former company man might have a touch of telepathy of his own. Realistically, he was probably just a damned good guesser. Sylar's eyebrows lowered a fraction of an inch, and half a dozen new cuts appeared across Bennett's collarbone.

"I'll do the smirking around here, thanks." Sylar paused, evaluating the condition of his captive. Time to talk. "So, Noah, how did you know to send the family away? Did some tabloid sighting tip you off? Some old company connection that still feels loyal? You saw Claire put the glass in my head." He leaned closer to Bennet, his prominent eyebrows lowering once more. "How did you know?"

"You think you're the only person who keeps surveillance on the local high school?" Bennet smiled weakly. "I was a company man when you were in grade school, and Claire's father for nearly that long." He stopped speaking a moment, stifling a groan behind his teeth as a long, thin cut appeared on his forearm. "Let me ask you a question. How hard was it for you to hold back from killing that kid that ran into you?"

So, you could take the man out of the company (by wiping the company out of existence), but you couldn't take the company out of the man.

"Why are you here, Sylar? If you had told me we were having a company reunion, I might've asked my favorite partner to stay and entertain you."

Sylar considered toying with Bennet a while longer, but then he realized there were other things he'd rather be doing. "I'm searching for my real family, and I know you can at least start me on the right track."

His remark took Bennet off guard, shock registering on the older man's face. "You're not here for Claire?"

Sylar gazed steadily at Bennet, not allowing a trace of emotion to flicker across his face. "Tell me what you know about my real family. And don't give me any of the lies the Petrellis were feeding me. I'll know when you lie to me."

Bennet stared at Sylar a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, then drew in a breath and shook his head, trying to clear away some of the pain. "I have…files. It's got to be in one of them. There are some hard copies stored in the office. I have intel on every person that ever went through Primatech. I figured they'd come in handy one day." He sighed, his shoulders sagging wearily against his restraints. "Guess I was right."

"So you're saying I should leave you alone in here and go search through your office for these mysterious files, giving you plenty of time to escape or call for reinforcements."

Bennet hesitated just long enough for Sylar to see through the man's fabrication. Bennet might be tired and in pain after a couple of hours of this, but he was still Bennet. "You could take me in the office with you; it's not like you'd have trouble restraining me."

Sylar grinned, then reached forward to pluck something off the floor. The horn-rimmed glasses glinted in the late afternoon sun. "But why should I trust someone who's betrayed me at every possible turn when I can simply ask your ever-faithful companion here? That whole psychometric incident Mommy Dearest led me through. Besides, Noah," Sylar leaned closer until he mouth was inches from Bennet's ear. "I can tell when people lie, remember? There are no files in your office, at least not ones that will help me. What's in there? Weapons? Bombs? A self-destruct switch or some sort of alert button?" Bennet really did sag then, all pretense gone. He was out of ideas, it seemed.

Which was, of course, when Sylar trusted him the least.

"I think I'll take my prize and go while I still can. Costa Verde traffic is only going to keep your family away for so long, and they'll have a big surprise when they get back." Sylar rose, standing over Bennet with the setting sun behind him, a towering dark figure over the beaten man.

"It was fun, Noah. I'd say we should do it again, but I don't think you'll be up for another round, or really much of anything."

Bennet's head jerked up, panic mixing with the anger already in his eyes. "Why bothering torturing me for information you were planning to get from somewhere else? Why torture me if you were just planning on killing me? Why not just take my glasses and go?"

Sylar leaned over Bennet, and the older man realized for the first time the horror Claire must have felt when Sylar did the same to her.

"Because you don't give up, Noah. You had two things I wanted, and I have one now. I'll have the other soon. Either way, though, you would find a way to make yourself a nuisance again. So you have to go."

Sylar straightened and smiled down at Bennet. He raised a finger, a gesture that was second nature to him now. Bennet opened his mouth to say something, but with a flick of Sylar's finger, Bennet's blood painted the walls around the two men. Bennet struggled instinctively against his invisible bonds for a moment before slumping forward, wide-eyed, his eyes and mouth wide open with shock and pain. Sylar watched the blood stream steadily from the other man's head for several moments, then reached forward and checked Bennet's neck for a pulse.

Nothing.

"I'm not taking any chances with you," Sylar muttered, wiping blood from his fingers onto Bennet's shirt. He contemplated the dead man in front of him for a moment, then neatly severed his sometime-nemesis, sometime-partner's head with barely half a thought. He used his telekinesis to remove any traces of blood from his person, tucked the horn-rimmed glasses into his pocket, and walked outside.

Sylar neatly closed the door behind him and walked down the street into the sunset.

_You're not going to be happy with me, Claire. I think I did the unforgivable this time. Not that I'm apologizing, of course. It had to be done. That man had the most amazing talent for screwing up my plans, and that couldn't happen this time. I'm so close to realizing one of my goals, and that means I'll have more time to devote to my other goal. To you. Of course, I'm sure you're going to make me suffer for killing your daddy. _

_I'm looking forward to it._

_I'll admit that Bennet surprised me today. I didn't figure him for the stalker-type, but I suppose I should have. I killed him because I know he would think of some metaphorical wrench to throw in my plans. A tiny part of me wonders if I'll still have to worry about his meddling now that he's dead. I probably should have burned his body. That would have been thorough. Smart, too. Oh, well. Life is full of regrets._

_I'm learning some very interesting things about your daddy, Claire. I wonder if you have any idea of just how much he's kept from you. Or from your family, for that matter? I know he kept you in the dark for years, but you seriously have no idea. I could tell you some very interesting things about your brother Lyle, for instance. There's more to that boy than you would think, and there's a reason your father keeps his distance, why your mother never punishes him too severely for anything. They aren't ignoring him because he's so insipidly boring; they're avoiding him. You don't want to make that child angry. I know; I've seen it happen thanks to your father's trademark. All I can say is, if it weren't for the Haitian, your family dynamic would be vastly different._

_These glasses are a treasure trove. I had no idea I would learn so much from them. Of course, these can't be the only glasses he's owned. The oldest image I seem to be able to get is of your first cheerleading tryout. You're not much shorter, but you look so much more…innocent. _

_It's cute._

_Your father's done enough in the last few years to keep me busy for quite some time; he helped capture a lot of people like us, Claire, and he spent time with and released even more of us than he locked up. I have a veritable all-you-can-eat-buffet (well, all I can eat, at least) of abilities to pick and choose from. And thanks to your father's glasses and the information in his records, I know exactly where to find them. _

_It's going to take me some time to sort through the information I'm getting until I can find what I need. Then I'm going to find my family, Claire. I wonder if it will be like the first time you met your real father. Was he a disappointment after Company Man, or were you used to men who had little time to spend with you while doing everything "for your own good"? _

_I promise, Claire, as soon as I'm done with this project, I'll have plenty of time for just you._

_I'm glad that you aren't actually waiting for me. Let's face it, you're not what anyone could truthfully call patient. I find that lately I'm not as patient as I used to be. Maybe I took more out of you than just your ability…My dreams are becoming even more vivid and occasionally frantic, which is new; I'm not a terribly frantic person. I begin to wonder how reality will measure up to these dreams and memories I have. I know that after today I've definitely given my fantasy of you as a vigilante a shove in the direction of reality. You really won't like what I did to your father. On the other hand, he was already dying when I killed him. One could argue that I saved him more needless suffering and pain. Of course, one could also argue that I was the reason he was dying in the first place, what with being the source of the original suffering and pain…_

_But we won't argue viewpoints just now. I have other things to attend to. _

_Then I have you._


	6. Claire 3

**Claire – 3**

Claire fumed silently in her window seat as the third hour of her cross-country flight crawled by. It really couldn't be him. There was just no conceivable way. How did she always get so wrapped up in what was going on in her own tiny sphere that she always missed the hugely obvious?

In the airport, she'd seen a familiar blur as she hugged her mother and Lyle good-bye, but it hadn't really registered. And why should it? For the first time in months, she was focusing on something besides being miserable, so why should anything interrupt that? She'd chalked it up to paranoia or déjà vu; something glitching in the Matrix, right?

Later, as she stashed her carryon in the overhead bin, she saw him, actually saw him. When she shook her head and did a double-take, he was gone, so she figured she was just going crazier than she already was.

About two hours into the flight, Claire decided to stretch her legs and check out the bathrooms. And there he was. He didn't even try to hide this time, although that might have been due to his being crammed awkwardly between two other passengers.

At least he had the decency to look embarrassed.

Claire stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping, ignoring all the people around them. "What are you doing here?" she hissed, already afraid of the answer. He gazed silently at her, flicked his gaze to the people on either side of him, then glanced back at her with eyebrows raised, as if to say, _Really? You want to do this in front of everyone?_

She ignored the stares and glared at him, hands on her hips, every inch the pissed-off teenager cliché until she realized what she was doing. She dropped her hands back to her sides, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. Then she flashed a dazzling smile.

"Renee! I had no idea you were on this flight! There are two empty seats next to me on row 15. Why don't you come sit with me?" She phrased it as a question, but they both knew she wouldn't hesitate to make the rest of the flight very uncomfortable (well, more uncomfortable) for him if he didn't join her, and soon. If he was startled by her sudden change in demeanor, though, the Haitian covered it well. In fact, he even looked a little relieved to give up his seat between the snoring, heavyset woman next to the window and the child on his other side that didn't seem to belong to anyone and was busy smearing some sort of pudding-like substance over nearly everything he could reach.

Abandoning the bathroom idea, Claire led the way back to her seat, graciously allowing the Haitian to have the aisle since he was far taller than she was. She fumed silently next to him for a few minutes collecting her thoughts, then turned to the man who had more than once saved her life.

"Why are you here, Renee?"

He gazed at her silently, which was really par for the course, and she felt her temper rising again. She knew this was the last place she needed to cause a scene, but how could her father send his freaking (super-powered) watch dog after her?

She shook her head, closed her eyes, held up a hand in a weary "hang on a minute" gesture, and pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. How the hell could someone who couldn't get sick and could heal from almost any conceivable injury still get headaches? Oh, that's right. Noah Bennett was involved.

She took another deep, steadying breath (she was going to hyperventilate at this rate), and opened her eyes, staring at the seat in front of her before she spoke quietly, leaning closer so they would hopefully not be overheard.

"Why don't you let me ask questions or narrate what I think is going on, and you let me know if I've missed something or gotten something wrong…how does that sound." She phrased it as a statement, not a question, but the Haitian once more gave her a relieved look and nodded for her to go ahead.

"Okay, so…first, the obvious question. Did my dad put you up to this, and if yes, which one?"

After nearly three hours of guessing and questioning, Claire had the situation pretty much worked out and herself pretty badly worked up. She was mostly angry, to be honest, that her father had tried to save her at the expense of his wife and son…They couldn't have gone on a whole family vacation or something?

"Did Dad even mention that he considered Mom and Lyle's safety before he did this?"

Before the Haitian could answer, Claire fumed, "Let me guess. Mom was in on the whole thing, too, and Lyle just didn't care." A nod. Well, that pretty much covered everything.

Just as she was about the lean back and finally let the whole thing rest, Renee pulled a small folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. She stared at the paper for a moment before taking it, but instead of opening it, she turned a rather sardonic face on the man next to her.

"Really? Two and a half hours, and now you give me a note?"

"You seem to like playing detective. Who am I to suppress someone's personality?"

She snorted at the irony of that statement as she unfolded the paper. As she'd suspected, it was from her father:

"Claire-bear, I know you're angry with me. If you're reading this, you spotted Renee, and you've honestly probably figured everything out at this point anyway. We heard rumors of Sylar's "resurrection" and his intentions to head in this direction. We haven't heard anything on his intentions, but you and I can both probably guess. Don't worry about us, though, honey, I'll keep the rest of the family safe. I wanted you as far away from this monster as I could and with people I thought could protect you. I love you. If you believe anything I tell you for the rest of your life, believe me when I say that I love you.

- Dad"

An announcement came over the intercom informing everyone that the flight would be landing shortly, to please place trays and seats in the upright position, etc, etc. Claire refolded the note, tucked it deep into her pocket, and turned to look out the window. The take-offs and landings were always her favorite part. Well, more the landings. The take-offs always made her a little nervous: to have the world you're familiar with suddenly rushed away into something tiny, unrecognizable, and unreachable. There was something innately wrong about that.

Forty-five minutes later, she and Renee were retrieving their things from baggage claim, all pretenses of his silently trailing her gone. If the cat was already out of the bag, he might as well keep her company at this point. As soon as they walked through to the next room, she heard a familiar shout and looked up to see Peter, Angela, and Nathan all standing together.

It never amazed her how comfortable Nathan Petrelli could look in his suit. Stiff, formal, and stuffy, sure, but how the hell did the man manage to look stuffy and comfortable at the same time? It's like he was born to be that way. Angela, wearing her eternally-attached triple rope of pearls, managed to make her smile seem forced and natural at the same time. Apparently this family had a talent for harboring multiple sets of emotions at the same time…And not one of them was as good an actor as they seemed to think they were.

Claire snorted. She fit in perfectly with them, after all.

She'd always considered herself to be the black sheep of the Petrelli family, but as Peter swooped down on her and scooped her up in a bear hug, she realized that it was Peter himself who didn't truly fit in the family. _Every single one of us is manipulative and two-faced_, she realized even as her face split in the biggest grin she'd worn in months. _But with Peter, you always know exactly where he stands and exactly what he thinks of you_.

She glanced over at Angela and Nathan and saw them exchanging quick patronizing smiles as they maintained their composed, pleasant attitude. _Oh, there goes Pete and his enthusiasm all over the place again_, they conveyed with their smiles. _At least we are keeping up the pretense of dignity…for the family's sake, of course._

Peter finally placed Claire back on the floor, giving her a tight, extra little squeeze she wasn't expecting. She glanced up at him, but he was already facing away from her, gathering the luggage they'd dropped during their greeting. She flicked her eyes to Renee, who of course hadn't missed anything, but he could only shrug, as clueless as she.

She exchanged brief, but dutifully warm hugs and greetings with her father and grandmother before the party began to move towards the exit. As they walked and exchanged small talk (where would she like to go for sight-seeing, what kind of tutors would she have, did she need to go shopping for anything, etc.) Claire couldn't shake the cloud of anxiety that had settled over her just after Peter's unexpected squeeze. It was possible she was being paranoid, but…

She glanced over at the Haitian, and he gave her the briefest of nods. Yes, he felt it, too. Something was off, even for the Petrellis. Which meant…

She stopped abruptly and grabbed Peter's arm, forcing him to halt in mid-stride and nearly drop her bags. He glanced at her, confusion and concern written on his face, along with maybe a trace of apprehension. Angela and Nathan were much quicker to hide their emotions, though Angela opened her mouth to say something to Claire. She cut her grandmother off before the first words could leave her mouth.

"What's going on, and don't bullshit me. I'm tired, I've been told too many lies today already, and I'm done with this. I already know why my dad sent me up here, and I don't see the point to all these pretenses. You're all acting weirder than normal, I know it has to do with Sylar, and I'd appreciate some honesty at this point. Is that too much to ask?"

Because she was watching for it specifically this time, Claire just caught a glimpse of some strange emotion flash through her grandmother's eyes. Weariness? Wariness? Fear? What the hell? Angela's face immediately switched back to its patient, caring, grandmotherly expression (which never quite managed to warm her eyes), and she stepped forward to link her arm through Claire's. "Let's at least get to the limo before we talk, dear, there's so many things to discuss that no one in the airport needs to hear." Her tones were warm, conciliatory, a spider who'd been caught leading a fly to its lair but thought it could still pull off dinner tonight.

Claire brushed Angela's arm off like so many spider webs and shot her a withering look. She then turned her glare to Peter, who was already looking away again, as if he knew she'd be able to read everything off his face. Surprisingly, it was the politician who gave her the first family-delivered honest answer of the day.

Trying to give her one more chance to not do this in public, Nathan took a deep breath and said, "You're sure you want to do this right here, Claire? I don't honestly advise it." She nodded anyway, far past the point in her life of caring for this man's advice. "All right, but we did warn you."

He pulled her slightly to side, speaking quietly and hugging her so as to speak directly into her ear without drawing too much attention.

"It's your dad, Claire. He… I can't put this nicely in any way. Sylar found him right after you left, and no one could get to him in time. Noah's dead."

Blackness.

_I have nothing for you but a song tonight. I've listened to this song for a long time, and I never really understood it. I still don't get it, but it makes me feel a little better tonight. I'm waiting, Mr. Gray._

_Johnny, Angry Johnny, this is…_

_Jezebel in Hell._

_I wanna kill you. I wanna blow you..._

_Away._

_I wanna kill you. I wanna blow you..._

_Away._

_I can do it to you gently, I can do it with an animal's grace._

_I can do it with precision, I can do it with gourmet taste._

_But either way…Either…Either way,_

_I wanna kill you. I wanna blow you…_

_Away._

_I can do it to your mind, I can do it to your face._

_I can do it with integrity, I can do it with disgrace._

_But either way…Either way, _

_I wanna kill you. I wanna blow you…_

_Away._

_Johnny, Johnny, Angry Johnny, this is, this is…_

_Jezebel in Hell._

_Johnny…Johnny, Angry Johnny, this is, this is…_

_Jezebel in Hell._

_I can do it in a church, I can do it any time or place._

_I can do it like an angel, To quiet down your rage._

_But either way…Either…Oh, either way,_

_I wanna kill you. I wanna blow you…_

_Away._

_I can do it in the water, I can do it on dry land._

_I can do it with instruments, I can do it with my own bare hands._

_But either way, Either way, you know where it stands._

_I wanna kill you. I wanna blow you…_

_Away._

_Johnny, Johnny, Angry Johnny, this is, this is…_

_Jezebel in Hell._

_Johnny…Oh, my Johnny…_

_Where'd your pleasure go_

_When the pain came through you?_

_Where'd your happiness go?_

_This force is running you around now._

_Getting you down now…_

_Where is your pleasure now Johnny?_

_Where has your pleasure gone…now?_

Author's Note: Countless apologies for taking so long on this update. Don't ask, I really have no excuses. Let's just say I've been recently re-inspired, and while updates still won't be regular, they will hopefully be more often than every two or three years. I will say for the next month I will be somewhere that, while I can check email, I will not be able to update, though I will hopefully be able to formulate a plan for the rest of the story at least. I've also revamped all the other chapters AGAIN. Not much new, I'm simply never satisfied with a finished product and if I can attack it and feel I can do better, I will. So I fiddle, added, and fixed mistakes that I'm _still_ finding, even at this late point in the story.

The song "Angry Johnny" was performed by Poe and belongs to the copyright holder.


End file.
